


medieval flat iron

by tattletold



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Ferdibert Secret Santa (Fire Emblem), Fluff, Hair Washing, Hair-pulling, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, as 'implied' as 'they fuck on the regs' gets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattletold/pseuds/tattletold
Summary: “Do not smirk at me like that, Hubert von Vestra. Not when you are--”Hubert raises his brows. “Responsible?”Ferdinand's hair is a mess after sleeping on it wet, and other fluffy things.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 5
Kudos: 219





	medieval flat iron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nomad_Dash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomad_Dash/gifts).



> i'm so sorry this was down to the last minute, the holidays have been so so very hectic!! i hope it can at least live up to the time you had to wait for it--regardless, happy holidays, and a happy new year!!! :>

The first thing Hubert hears on his one morning, his single opportunity to sleep in, is a painful, exasperated groan. It is nothing so sharp as to alert him of intruders or anything, but certainly loud and seemingly agonized enough to rouse him anyways. Noise is still noise, and Hubert is still awake. He would be far more upset to have his rare sleep interrupted if not for the fact that he had already been expecting being woken up early by his just-as-rare bedmate. Just not like this.

Slowly, he pushes himself up from where he’d been sleeping on his stomach, brows knit together as he forces himself to come to. The bed beside him is empty but still warm, and it takes a substantial amount of willpower not to simply flop right back down in that space and wait for the other to return.

“What has you so troubled at this hour?” Hubert asks, voice low and gravelly with sleep in a tone that would make anyone besides Ferdinand shudder in fear. His exhausted voice is not much different from that of a bear awoken in the middle of hibernation, and yet, Ferdinand has only ever cooed over how ‘sweet’ he sounds in the morning in five embarrassing letters so far.

Once he’s able to open his eyes and adjust them to the light, Hubert can make out the figure of the Prime Minister standing in front of Hubert’s vanity. He hears Ferdinand gasp and then the blur of long orange hair suddenly is sent spinning as he turns around, a mess of waves and twirling vines and all other manner of things that would make Hubert sick if he stared at them in motion too long. But when he blinks once, twice more, the image becomes a little clearer, and he can much better stand the image of the Adrestian banner that is Ferdinand’s long hair than some dizzy spell of spinning colors.

Today, though, something is different.

“Oh, Hubert, I did not mean to wake you, darling--please, go back to sleep, it is nothing!” Ferdinand says quickly, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He puts one knee back on the bed, and although Hubert is already sitting up, he attempts to push him back down into the pillows by his shoulders. 

Exhausted as he is, Hubert allows it and leans back in bed. “You never wake before me,” Hubert muses aloud before a yawn interrupts him. By the time he can finally open his eyes without any haze of sleep or dream to cloud his vision, he can appreciate fully the smile on Ferdinand’s face as he looms over him, appearing so fond that Hubert can hardly stand to look at him directly. Not that there is any other part of his lover that is not so overwhelming to gaze upon for too long as it is; the man oozes charm and charisma and everything Hubert is not from every pore.

Ferdinand turns as he sits, halfway on the bed with his legs hanging off. He is only seated so that he’s facing Hubert and can run a hand through short black locks in an effort to keep him subdued. “I was hoping to change that; I had plans to bring breakfast and coffee myself to make your morning enjoyable on the occasion you are not immediately forced from bed.”

“It would have been just as relaxing had you simply stayed put--what alerted you to make that noise, anyways?”

“Ah… I was just surprised by my own reflection. I had been so tired last night that I simply fell asleep while my hair was still wet.”

Hubert blinks, finally allowing his eyes to stray from Ferdinand’s face--and it is a testament to how horribly enamored Hubert is to not have noticed his hair until just now. While it is not so unruly as to be unsightly, it is  _ far _ different than anything Ferdinand would wear in public, much less on purpose. The curls that tended to flow down his back as if just in the suggestion of rivulets have decided to conspire against one another, now all turned about in some battleground of curls and waves fighting to establish their own direction. Some twirl clockwise in full, thick curls, while others merely droop counterclockwise in a single wave. 

Worse is that among the tight curls that loop three times an inch, there are just as many strands that have almost straightened out completely.

Altogether, it is an absolute  _ mess _ , and Hubert cannot hold down the smile that rises to his lips. As if in direct opposition, Ferdinand’s lips turn downwards, and he uses the hand in Hubert’s hair to lightly shake him. “Do not  _ smirk _ at me like that, Hubert von Vestra. Not when you are--”

Hubert raises his brows. “Responsible?”

He is, in a way.

The night prior, Ferdinand had decided to make as much of an event of Hubert’s rare evening and morning off as possible. They’d spent dinner together, had their tea, taken a good silent hour or so reading their respective novels in Hubert’s quarters, and then Ferdinand, dramatic dear that he is, prepared a bath full of all manner of scented oils and salts for the two of them. Even though he had intended to spend most of the bath doting on Hubert, washing every inch of him and massaging his back and so on, Hubert had made him promise an equal exchange if they were to do anything together at all. With a fake roll of his eyes, Ferdinand agreed and sat back, allowing Hubert to wash his hair for the majority of their time.

It was relaxing. It was nice. It was everything Hubert and his sore back and hands had needed to be able to sit down and run his fingers through his lover’s hair for nearly an hour. Then when they had risen from the tub and returned to Hubert’s bedchambers, he expressed to Ferdinand his thanks in the most efficient way he knew how.

Hubert lifts a hand to trace one of the telltale splotches of red painted across Ferdinand’s tan neck, smiling at how it causes his cheeks to darken as well. “I suppose some of it  _ would _ have straightened out from being pulled taut for so long while it was wet, wouldn’t it?” As if the point of his words wasn’t clear enough, he gives a lock of Ferdinand’s hair a tug, watching as the waves disappear when it’s stretched out.

The color on his cheeks darkens even more, but Ferdinand keeps his eye. “It was probably just how I slept on it, since I did not tie it away. You get ahead of yourself rather quickly.”

Hubert’s hand slides up, running from the warmth skin of his neck to cup one of Ferdinand’s cheeks. He immediately leans into the touch. “I am quite full of myself when it comes to what I am capable of doing to you--now come lie with me already.”

He doesn’t need much convincing. Ferdinand makes a point to pinch a concerningly dark purple mark on Hubert’s shoulder as he climbs back into bed. If they were any earlier into their relationship, Hubert would be  _ mortified _ by the way Ferdinand pushes at his shoulder for him to roll onto his side, somehow already knowing how Hubert would prefer to sleep with his lover curled around his back. But they’ve been together for months now, and he is so very tired, thus Hubert follows along willingly and even scoots back until their bodies are flush against each other.

* * *

It’s quite some time before either of the schedules allow them to have a frivolous night together or morning together. Hubert’s work excels in the darker hours of the night, while Ferdinand is best suited to dealing with his own matters when the sun is high and everyone can appreciate his (and thus, the Empire’s) good work. They have always been polar opposites in just about everything, and it has never mattered to them once within the confines of their relationship until it comes in between the amount of time they can spend together. While both remain committed to their tea times at least once every few days, it is hardly anything compared to the time they used to be able to throw around before they were so  _ busy _ .

It does come, though, even if it takes a few weeks. When Hubert informs Ferdinand of his schedule he’s practically  _ beaming _ , and Hubert would tease him if he weren’t merely reflecting how Hubert feels a few layers past his pride as well. His heart had even skipped a beat like some teenager at the realization he would be able to spend time with his lover at long last, and Ferdinand’s over the top reaction is the icing on top of an already exquisite cake.

With no idea when the next free night and morning they’ll have is to come, they naturally decide to indulge as much as they can in one night, determined to make this evening decadent enough to last the two of them until next time. Ferdinand relaxes visibly as he sinks into the bath in front of Hubert, his shoulders drooping as a pleased sigh tumbles from his lips. Hubert reaches for him at the exact moment that Ferdinand leans back, always strangely in sync these days, until they’re pressed together.

He tilts his head up, looking at Hubert from where the back of his head rests against his chest. “I missed you,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, when those three words make Hubert’s pulse spike. Maybe it’s the fact that to Ferdinand, it  _ is _ the simplest thing in the world that makes Hubert feel so embarrassed--that all of this romantic nonsense comes so easily to him, about  _ Hubert _ of all people. He will never tire of receiving this sincere, unquestioning affection.

Hubert cups his hands in the warm water and drags them up Ferdinand’s chest to wet as much skin as possible in one motion, making Ferdinand exhale through his nose and arch back against Hubert in that irresistible way that has him reaching forward to wrap his arms around his chest, nosing into the back of his head.

“Let me wash your hair?” Hubert says in response. 

Where other people might be upset their loved one didn’t return the sentiment with the same words, Ferdinand’s eyes flutter open with an even brighter smile, as if the request means more than regurgitating the same phrase. The same feeling it would express lives so much more comfortably in Hubert’s actions than his words. Ferdinand traces the lines of Hubert’s fingers with his own and nods.

“...I cannot do so with you pressed against me,” Hubert says with a small breath of laughter as Ferdinand stays put, watching his face contort into a stubborn pout before he finally sighs and sits up.

“You demand so much of me after a hard day,” he says in exasperation while bringing his knees up to his chest. “I ran drills today-- _ drills _ , can you believe it?”

“I can.” As he speaks, Hubert begins to wet Ferdinand’s hair with his hands, gently leading him back in a different position to soak it before helping him sit up once more. “Even though you are the Prime Minister, you are still our most accomplished and esteemed soldier on horseback. Were you upset you were asked to lend your aid to the knights?”

Ferdinand’s answer comes immediately. “Of course not, it is always an honor to be chosen by hand for Her Majesty’s sake.”

“She must have known you would be willing and made the decision thusly. I can ‘believe it’ because you are the only man talented enough for the task who would be not only more than willing but  _ eager  _ to help.” He takes the bottle of shampoo Ferdinand brought from his own quarters in hand, pouring a generous amount into his palm to lather up the entirety of the overgrown labyrinth that is Ferdinand’s hair. As daunting a task as it is to clean and wash so much, it is in its own way methodical and strangely therapeutic. Starting from the top, scratching his scalp while lathering the soap, making sure to cover all of his roots--

“High praise from a Vestra.”

“Low bar for an Aegir.”

Ferdinand reaches back to pinch his calf, and Hubert flicks the suds onto his face.

\--and then, after bickering, working his way down the rest of his hair in deliberate segments. Ferdinand has learned to take care of his long hair despite growing it out unintentionally, but it never looks cleaner or feels as smooth as when Hubert washes it for him, just for the attention to detail and thorough approach he takes. Then again, this is hardly about washing Ferdinand’s hair for him.

It’s the wide, broad shoulders hunched in front of him. The muscled back and tan hips that disappear below the surface of the water. The way his neck cranes back when Hubert rubs his scalp, the quiet, pleased sighs that escape his lips from time to time. It’s the way that, after leaning back and having the suds rinsed out in Hubert’s lap, Ferdinand opens his eyes and stares up at him with the most puzzling expression to try and interpret, because for simply bathing him, he gazes at Hubert as if he has given him the world.

Stupid, sentimental man.

Hubert gathers his hair between both hands when Ferdinand is sitting up once more and wrings out the excess water so it doesn’t drip down his back for the remainder of their bath. He realizes now that it’s been a good while since they’ve spoken, and the moment the thought registers, Ferdinand opens his mouth as if he’d read his mind. “Would you mind helping style my hair for me?”

It isn’t an unreasonable request, not when he’s done so for Edelgard for years and even begun assisting Ferdinand when necessary, too. Hubert begins combing his fingers through the bright orange locks to remove any remaining tangles and hums his answer. “You would like me to braid it for you before bed?”

The water splashes a little as Ferdinand shifts back. Now that his hair is gathered on one side of his shoulder and washed he can finally lean back against Hubert again, this time completely wet and growing cold by the minute. Hubert is quick to shimmy forward and wrap his arms around his middle once more, pulling Ferdinand’s back to his chest to keep him warm while the water on his skin gradually dries. And press a kiss to his shoulder. For warmth, of course, and no other reason.

“No, I think I am fine without the curls, and it takes  _ so  _ much longer to dry that way,” Ferdinand answers, his voice lilting in that way that tells Hubert there’s one single answer he’s alluding to with the subtlest mischief in his tone.

Hubert takes the bait, because it’s their day off together. “How would you have me style it, then, my dear?”

Ferdinand turns his face over his shoulder with his eyes closed as he wipes the remaining water and suds from his forehead before they can slide into his eyes. If Hubert had spent his time appreciating the man’s back when he first sat down, he is positively  _ bewitched  _ by him now, following the trail of every drop of water as it rolls down his back and back into the pool. Unlike before, his face is flushed red, and Hubert has enough experience to know by now that it isn’t because of the bath alone.

“I would like it straightened,” Ferdinand says in his most Prime-Minister-Giving-Official-Orders voice, puffing his chest out haughtily. He then cracks one eye open to peek up at Hubert with a particularly devious twinkle that tells Hubert the rest of their night has been long since decided. “By hand.”

A slow, catlike smile spreads over Hubert’s face.

For all the elegant, strong, and noble beauty Ferdinand commands in their every day work, nobody else would ever know just how much more breathtaking he is when he  _ schemes _ .

Hubert reaches forward, humming as if in deep consideration as he continues carding his fingers through Ferdinand’s hair. It’s an easy, soothing motion, until they catch on a particularly difficult knot--and instead of combing it out, Hubert closes his fist around it and  _ yanks _ .

Ferdinand is pulled back into his lap easily with a sharp gasp, pain flashing across his face for just a moment before that snarky little smirk of his takes its place once more. With the hand not pulling Ferdinand’s hair tight between his fingers, Hubert reaches up to grab his chin and tilts his face up towards him yet again.

“If that is what the Prime Minister wants,” Hubert says dutifully, “then I suppose arrangements could be made.”

**Author's Note:**

> @dreisang on twitter


End file.
